


The Masquerade Ball

by Batjokespirkylux



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26821219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batjokespirkylux/pseuds/Batjokespirkylux
Summary: After Jeremiah fell into that vat at Ace chemicals, not even the recently rebuilt Wayne Manor can cheer him up. Alfred and Selina decide that making the annual Wayne Ball into a Masquerade might brighten his spirits-  but during the party Bruce is plagued by the feeling of eyes watching him- eerily green eyes. A little fluffy sort of fic - dealing with Jeremiah before and after the gas etc.Non-cannon - series 5 ish (Sort of a time warped version I suppose).Just written for fun to cheer me up :)
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Jim Gordon/Leslie Thompkins, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

The Wayne ball this year was going to be a masquerade. Selina had suggested it. Alfred had endorsed it. He had smirked at Bruce’s excitement at the idea and muttered something about how anonymous fooling around was still not something a respectable gentleman would do. Selina pretended not to hear him, and he busied himself butlering in the hallway outside the study.   
The new Wayne manor had been built as an almost exact replica, and Bruce had been determined that the study should be the most exact. He had pretty much memorised the order of the books, so it was just a matter of building the shelves and repurchasing them. Selina had helped him locate them – and the rarer ones may or may not have found their way out of someone’s personal collection in exchange for a small bundle of cash on their desk. Bruce sat down at the desk, hand carved to match his father’s old one, and smiled openly.  
“Who is on the invite list then?” Selina swung her legs around onto the sofa so her feet were propped up on the arm rests. Bruce withheld the urge to tell her how expensive that fabric had been to replicate.  
“Gotham.”   
The night of the Wayne ball rolled around quickly. Bruce busied himself with the planning, it was a nice distraction from the recent past. That night at ace chemicals. If he closed his eyes for too long he could still see it. At night he would still wake up with his hand outstretched. If only he had just stopped him. The smell. The sound. The feeling of his heart beating through his chest. The pain.  
Bruce was grateful for the distraction.   
The morning of the party Selina left to go shopping with Ivy and Barbara, and Bruce spent some time boxing with Alfred. Alfred, as usual, tried to use the time as an impromptu therapy session.  
“You’re still not sleeping master Bruce?”   
Bruce missed his swing and caught his fist on the wall.   
“What are you talking about?”  
“Your undereye baggage is nearly as prominent as your emotional baggage master Bruce.”   
Bruce didn’t answer.  
“You seem preoccupied… is this a little bit of nervousness for the night ahead?”   
He was talking about Selina. Bruce nearly laughed.  
“What? No?” Bruce was becoming aware that his denial simply consolidated his caregiver’s suspicions.   
He was grateful for this too.  
The last thing he needed was someone to pry into why Jeremiah’s eyes still haunted his sleep.   
He imagined that awful little present box Jeremiah had told him about. Back when he was really Jeremiah. That quiet, gentle soul. If he closed his eyes he could still remember the first tentative touch.  
They had been working in Jeremiah’s bunker for about eight or nine hours without much of a break. They had become over excited at their potential break through. Funnily enough, the scientific discovery had faded in Bruce’s mind. It must have been something to compliment the batteries. But Bruce couldn’t remember now. That all paled in comparison to the evening’s discussion. They had become drunk on lack of sleep. That weirdly giddy feeling you get when your brain is deprived of rest made Bruce bold, and he asked Jeremiah questions about his life. To his surprise, ‘Miah had answered. They had spent hours talking aimlessly about childhood memories. ‘Miah surprised him with some quite sweet memories of tricking the acrobats alongside Jerome so they could get double sweets at the end of the night.  
“I’d go up after Jerome, take my sweets and thank them. Then he’d go back up and claim I’d been twice.”   
Bruce had smiled at this. It was weird to think there was a hint of normality in Jeremiah’s messed up life. He wondered if Jeremiah considered his life normal. He told him stories about when he was a child, about the lunches he spent with his parents. About that night. About the show they watched. He even found himself laughing, thinking back to Alfred’s first night alone with the crying Bruce. Alfred had tried to cheer him up with his favourite sandwich, and Bruce had been so busy crying all day that the food turned to mush in his mouth. He threw it up over the sofa. A sofa he now realised was a seriously expensive. Alfred had no idea what to do – Bruce laughed with Jeremiah over his caregiver. The man he owed so much to.   
“You love him though, don’t you?” Jeremiah had asked, and Bruce became aware of how close their chairs were. He extended his leg ever so slightly and their knees were touching.  
“Without doubt – he’s like an uncle to me. Or a father, really. But not obviously instead of my dad. Like if I had two of them.”   
“I have an uncle and a dad, I’m not sure I could say I cared for either one of them.” Bruce nodded.  
“You loved Jerome and your mum though, right?”  
Jeremiah seemed to think carefully on this one. His hesitation wasn’t a surprise, but his answer was.  
“Yes, I suppose. But not real love.”  
“Real love?”  
“Yes.”   
A tired Bruce was a bold Bruce.   
“What about me?”  
“Pardon?”  
“What do you feel about me?”   
The silence was stifling. But it didn’t last long. Jeremiah answered him with a smile, and then lips gently touching his own.  
Alfred landed a punch squarely on Bruce’s jaw, and he fell to the floor.   
“Oh, sorry Master Bruce, I did have a bit of an inkling you weren’t paying attention!”   
Bruce shrugged it off.  
“I was just thinking about what to wear tonight.”  
“As long as its not an all-black mask.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party begins, and Bruce can't shake the feeling something isn't quite right.

The Masquerade – Part Two  
In the afternoon, Bruce went upstairs to have a shower. Alfred busied himself in the kitchen, helping the caterers find serving dishes and how to use their hob properly. The old thing had survived the wreckage, something Alfred was grateful for and horrified by. He had hoped it would be an excuse to buy a brand-new range. Of course, if Bruce knew the difference between a good hob and a traditional one, he’d buy one already. But there was something sentimental about the hob too. Thomas had bought it in an antique shop. They’d fixed it together. Of course, the main parts on the inside basically had to be ripped out and replaced, but the ornate look had suited the old house. And Alfred begrudgingly admitted it suited the new old house too. It hadn’t liked the move. Like the Master of the house, the hob wasn’t quite lighting up like it used to. Something was troubling Bruce. Alfred just had to find out what.  
Jim Gordon arrived early to help them with the setting up and the security. Bruce had said, without laughing, that his most dangerous enemy was sitting in the bottom of a vat of acid, so they wouldn’t need much. But there was always a background suspicion that Tetch or Firefly might decide tonight was the night to wreak their revenge on Gotham. They knew it wouldn’t be scarecrow – he never liked situations where everyone else wears a mask. Made him feel uneasy. The other ‘villains’ of Gotham liked a party too much to ruin it. The Penguin was bound to make an appearance in all his grandeur. Jim’s mask was a sensible silver – he laughingly told Alfred that Lee had bagged gold and he felt silver was appropriate.  
The guests poured through the entrance to Wayne manor at around seven, and champagne flowed like a river. Laughter soon filled the pseudo historic walls, and Bruce was surrounded by friends. Selina took his arm and smiled at him from behind her black mask. The kitten ears and whiskers went well with her ballgown, which was jet black and flecked with small white rhinestones. She also had a tail – an extra flourish recommended by Barbara. Barbara herself was busy courting the eligible bachelors of Gotham city, baby in arm, glowing in her deep magenta gown and white diamond mask. Bruce fidgeted with his own mask, a navy blue with a black feather. Alfred had asked him to go for something more colourful, but black was beginning to feel like his colour. So a slight compromise was made with the navy to match his tux.  
Selina grew bored of dancing after a short while and they headed to the balcony. On the way there they passed through a suspiciously crowded hallway – the young elites of Gotham seemed to always find some corner to find something illegal to do. Bruce and Selina edged their way through the small gap in the centre.  
A gloved hand caught Bruce’s arm and an eery feeling came over him.  
Green eyes from behind a white smiling mask.  
A wink.  
Bruce felt sick.  
Selina was leading him away.  
A gloved hand waved goodbye.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've taken so long to update this - life has been pretty hectic! Having this has been a nice distraction today though. Just a short one this time.

The masquerade- Part 3  
Bruce gasped when the cold air hit him. From behind her mask, Selina frowned.   
“Bruce, everything ok?”  
Bruce nodded, then shook his head, then nodded.  
“I, for a moment I felt like.” He looked back at the house. She cocked her head at him and waited for him to continue.   
“Like?”  
“Like someone who shouldn’t be here is here.”   
“What do you mean? Like someone dangerous?”  
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t know why he’s here.”  
“Who?”  
Bruce didn’t want to say it. It sounded crazy. Then again, to not say it would also look crazy. Selina gave an impatient shrug.  
“Jeremiah.”  
“What?” Selina shook her head “No way man, he was dead. Like deader than dead. Like fell into a vat of acid dead. They couldn’t even drag out the bits of his body.”  
“I know, I know, its just for a moment…” Bruce trailed off.   
“Bruce, have you ever thought about therapy?” Bruce rolled his eyes. “I know how you feel about it man but… he….he meant something!” She was lost for words. No one really understood his relationship with Jeremiah. He hadn’t told her. But Selina knew Bruce better than anyone. She had been there during one of his worst nightmares. She had slept over because it was raining. Bruce had offered her the guest bedroom but they’d ended up falling asleep watching TV together. Bruce had screamed his name and woken in a cold sweat. You don’t do that over someone you hate.   
“I can’t. I can’t think about this right now.” He sat down on the floor on the balcony. The cold floor was a relief.  
“Ok, well why don’t we go back in there and check.”  
“Check?”   
“Well, if that creep really is around, we’ll soon know about it. And wouldn’t you rather know about it than wait for it out here?”  
She had a point.  
The main hall was full of people. Ed Nygma and his fiancé had blown in around half an hour ago and brought with them a host of rich people with fancy suits. The love birds were, of course, dressed immaculately in green and purple, with alternate masks to co-ordinate. Penguin’s eyepatch slightly ruined the ensemble, in his opinion, but the mask hid it well enough. Jim complimented them on their cufflinks – Ed wore silver umbrellas, and Oswald had silver question marks. A little set. Jim joked about getting police badges for Harvey, so he could never truly leave the GCPD. Bruce had joked that he should get bats, but he didn’t think anyone quite got it.   
Bruce made his welcome speech brief because after only an hour or so they were already opening another case of wine, and their third case of champagne. He didn’t like the catcalls from the women or the jeers from the men – although they were all meant in earnest. A sober crowd was an easy crowd- a drunk crowd needed someone like Jerome Valeska to entertain them – Bruce was too soft and sweet eyed.   
After his speech Bruce was pretty much shepherded into dancing with about a hundred people. Alfred caught him halfway and told him the host should try to dance with everyone at the party. Bruce laughed that if he did that he’d never stop dancing. A blur of dresses and tuxedos passed him by, moving from hand to hand like some kind of rag doll. Sometimes Bruce led, sometimes they did. He was beginning to feel numb.   
Until his hands were in his.   
Electric.  
Pain.   
Familiarity.  
Green eyes. Far too green. Greener than before?   
A smile he recognised too well. That hadn’t changed since their last meeting.   
“Dance, Bruce, and don’t say anything.”   
Confident arms wrapped around his waist.   
Jeremiah hadn’t had this kind of confidence before the gas.  
It troubled Bruce that he didn’t really mind the feeling.


End file.
